The Muse Sketch

The first piece I wrote for my Create Writing class was about
writer's block and involved a Muse. Horrible piece of tripe, but
what can I say? I had writer's block, and I had no real experience
with writing fiction of any kind (The
Demonic Creature that Invaded Bill's Room notwithstanding) it
pretty much flopped.

Now, least I need to remind you again, I was still heavily
influenced by Monty Python and Douglas Adams.

Flashback: In 10th grade, I wrote a sketch (this was
before I even heard of Monty Python) in which the two main
characters engage in an argument. For some reason, there's a
certain humor I find in arguments: you have two (or more) parties
stubbornly refusing to hear the other party and insisting they're
right.

There was another sketch I wrote when very stressed (about the
time my Mom was worried I might be moving to North Carolina) which was between a
son and her mother. Very cathartic, very funny, and unfortunately,
very lost.

So I tend to have an ear for arguments, as it were.

So, I have yet another writing assignment for Creative Writing
(we were expected to have something every week). In fact, if you've
been reading these sketches in the right order, you might see that
there is some form of (tenuous) continuity. The type of continuity
you might find in, oh, I don't know … a episode of Monty Python's Flying
Circus.

I'm also particularly fond of the name Hrothgar. Hrothgar. It
has a nice ring to it (once you know how to pronounce it). True
story: I'm with some friends and we go to a restaurant. It's
crowded so they ask for a name. I give the hostess the name
“Hrothgar.” Had to spell it for her and when she called
our “name,” we almost missed it since we didn't
recognize the name.

And for no particular reason, the phrase “… third
Hitler on your left …” I find highly amusing. And
believe me, you don't know the depths of guilt I feel because of
that.

I won't bother listing all the references and influences that
went into this particular sketch. The astute reader will pick up on
them.

Maybe.

And before anyone asks, I probaby won't write the
“COME AS YOUR FAVORITE DICTATOR PARTY SKETCH,” as I have
no idea how to even approach that, much less make it funny
…

[An apartment, one of those high rise apartments where the main window opens out to a ledge. In front of the window is a desk with a typerwriter, a stack of paper next to it (the typerwriter has a sheet in it) and wads of paper litter the room, all centered about an empty waste basket. A knock comes from the front door. Pause. Another knock from the front door. Pause again. This time we hear a pounding as if someone with a sledge hammer is working at opening the door with it. And from what we can see, it looks like someone with a sledge hammer is working to open it. Still no response. Then the door opens and in walks a man who is wearing flowing white robes (much like what a Muse might wear) carrying a rather large sledge hammer. He looks around, sees no one, and exits off the other side of the set. So much for the setting.]

WRITER

[offstage, voice sounds kind of echoy]
Hey! Do you mind?

MUSE

[for that is what he is]
[also offstage, and his voice too has that echoy quality of the writer]
No, not really.

WRITER

[until otherwise stated, all voices are offstage, and have that neato echo quality to them]
Get the hell out of here, I'm busy.

MUSE

You're supposed to be working.

WRITER

I'm thinking.

MUSE

You're slacking off.

WRITER

Am not.

MUSE

Are too.

WRITER

Get the aich e double ell out of here.

MUSE

[Comes back to the set, grabs the typewriter and exits again. The voices are still echoy mind you, in case you forgot]
[A large echoy splash is heard]

WRITER

Hey! That's my typewriter!
[Sounds of water sloshing, and indistinct, echoy muttering, then something being dropped on a tile floor, and then the WRITER enters the set (very wet) wearing only a towel and carrying a very wet typewriter. He sets it down on the desk. Then he starts to go back off]

MUSE

[Blocking him with a very large sledge hammer]
I think not.

WRITER

Who are you? Did Phillip send you?

MUSE

No—

WRITER

Because you can tell Phillip that these scare tactics of his are not going to work to get the book done any sooner. I'll get it to him when it's good and finished, understand?

MUSE

Listen—

WRITER

And well you should listen, buddy. You can listen when I tell you to tell him that the book will be ready by tomorrow, next week at the latest. Next month at the absolutely, positively latest, get that?

MUSE

You don't seem—

WRITER

Finished? Of course I'm not finished. I'm only just beginning, you—
[MUSE knocks WRITER on the shin by lazily swinging the very large sledge hammer underhand]
AHHHH!

MUSE

[WRITER hops over to the phone and starts to dial while the MUSE is talking]
Listen here, you myoptic knee biting pair of fetid dingo's kidneys. Phillip did not send me, nor did Monique, Murray or anyone else you know. I as your—what are you doing?